The Way It's Supposed To Be
by MillieW
Summary: After Ron's death, Hermione's life falls apart. Help comes from an unexpected source and Hermione have to deal with falling in love agian. But life isn't easy when love isn't what people expect it to be.
1. Chapter 1

When Ron died Hermione's world was turned up-side-down. Within minutes all her plans and hope for the future lay scattered on the ground next to his bleeding body, and during the weeks that passed she died as well. A bit more every day. For with him, Ron had taken her heart. And you cannot live without your heart.

Still – no one seemed to know. No one seemed to understand. When people paid their condolences to the Weasleys they included her only as his friend, equal to Harry. No one knew how much greater her loss was. No one knew that with Ron's death, her dreams and hopes died too. Her dreams and hopes for love, for marriage, for a family – everything they talked and wished and hoped for during those few moments they had alone together. During those rare occasions when Harry's safety wasn't their main priority.

Harry had known of course. So had Ginny. But in their own grief they seemed to forget. Harry buried himself in Ginny's arms, the two of them finding comfort in each other, forgetting her grief as they did. And she was left alone. Alone with the darkness and scattered dreams and pain, crying on Mr and Mrs Weasley's sofa while the others found comfort in each others company at his funeral.

Until she realized that someone had known.

Until she found two pairs of strong arms embracing her, holding her tight as she cried. Two sets of voices whispering in her ear that they knew, that they known all along and that they wouldn't leave her, that they wouldn't let her grieve alone.

She had clung to them then, holding on as if her life dependent on them, and in a way she guessed it had, because when everyone else looked the other way, forgot, tried not to remember, their voices were the ones to tell her that it was real, that it was more than her imagination, that she had a right to grieve when everyone told her to move on.

And when life returned to normal, or to as normal a life could be when the love of your life wasn't in it any longer, they were the ones to keep her sane. They were the ones to always offer a sofa when her apartment felt too empty and her small bed too large. They were the ones to turn up in her flat, making her eat when food didn't taste like food any more. They were the ones to rock her gently to sleep when the loneliness became too much to bear. And when no one understood how it came to be that the two biggest rule-breakers in Hogwarts's history were now considered as her closest friends, she didn't care. She knew. That was more than enough.

Harry had of course tried to mend what had been broken. He had told her how sorry he was and Hermione had forgiven him – undoubtedly she had. But he still reminded her of Ron, of the times they spent together, and somehow not everything could be fixed by an apology. As much as she wanted to, she could not forget. Forgive – naturally, forget – never. And so the breach was final. They still spent time together. They still loved each other dearly, and she still knew exactly what was going on in his life. But when life became too rough, or when she needed someone to talk to – Harry was not the one she turned to. And somewhere down the line she realized that he never had been.

She couldn't say when the pain had died down. All she knew was that one morning she didn't spend the few precious moments before she really woke pretending that Ron was still alive, clinging to the hope that it was all a bad dream. And as the days moved on, those mornings came more often. Then came the days when she didn't think of him much. When not everything she saw reminded her of him. And with time, the intervals between nights spent sleeping on George's and Fred's sofa grew longer, and the times they needed to remind her to eat grew fewer. And so they began making her enjoy life instead – forcing jokes far too juvenile and childish on her, making her laugh until her stomach hurt. And then gradually the times they spent together was less about Ron and more about them.

If anyone had asked her when she had gotten over Ron, she wouldn't have been able to answer. And if anyone would have asked her when she fallen in love with his brothers, she would have told them they were crazy, that such a thing wasn't even a possibility, not to mention highly immoral. You could not be in love with two men at once. It was plain wrong! And she was not in love with either of them, and certainly not in the both of them!

But then of course she was. Some part of her knew it as well as she knew she needed air to breathe. She could feel it every time they looked at her, in the way they could make her mouth and throat dry out, or in the way she shivered every time they brushed against a patch of her skin.

But no, she wasn't in love with them! She wasn't allowed to be. She just could not be in love with Ron's brothers, with any _two_ men in fact. And so she pushed it far back in her mind and told herself that it was nonsense, that it was all in her mind; that it was just because she missed Ron so much.

And when she thought about it they did have the same warm eyes that Ron had. And they did have the same large hands, so often cut and burned because of their experiments, just as Ron's had been cut and burned do to all the dangers the three of them got into. And they did have the same childish humour, and George and Fred did seem just as intent as Ron had been to making her loosen up and enjoy herself. And of course she missed Ron, and of course that was all it was about, and _of course_ she wasn't in love with them. And with that she contented herself. With that explanation she tried to convince herself, and she tried to forget it and she tried to move on with her life.

And that was the reason she was so shocked at her own jealous reaction when they showed up to Harry and Ginny's wedding with Katie and Angelina on their arms. It shouldn't have been a shock. She knew they spent a lot of time with them. She knew they went out together. But no matter how she tried to fight it she felt a pang of pain every time she looked at the four of them laughing and enjoying themselves. And suddenly she didn't like Angelina or Katie any more. Or weddings. And suddenly she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

It didn't matter that George and Fred greeted her before they greeted anyone else, including their sister. Neither did it matter that Fred choked on his food and George nearly spat his drink all over the table when Mrs Weasley gaily talked about being happy that her boys finally found nice girls, and how they might be next in line for marriage. All that mattered was that somehow her heart had broken again, and this time she wasn't sure how it was going to be fixed.

And so she did what she always did. She fled. She fled from the people happily chatting to each other. Fled from the table filled with food and from the dancing that would soon follow, and she didn't even think twice when her hand reached out for the floo-powder – all she knew was that she had to get away before she broke down.

"Hermione, wait!"

It was the wrong voice. It wasn't George's or Fred's. It was Harry's. For once in his life he noticed. And she couldn't turn around, because if she did she would start to cry, and right now she needed a good excuse, so why on earth couldn't she think of one?

"I know you still miss Ron," Harry said when she didn't turn around, and Hermione nearly laughed out loud. "Hermione, I know this should have been the two of you as well, I know this must be horrible for you," he continued and somehow Hermione wondered how much of "_this_" he understood and how much Ginny had told him to understand.

"It was almost two years ago, Hermione. You have to let him go," he then said, and now she couldn't hold back the tears anymore but it didn't matter because thank heavens he wouldn't understand anyway.

"You know, Ginny tells me Victor Krum still thinks of you," Harry then said tentatively, and she could swear she could hear him shift uncomfortably behind her back. Hermione laughed through the tears. She should have known. This was not Harry trying to understand or be there for her. This was Harry doing what others told him to do. Fix Hermione up and everyone will be happy. Then we won't need to worry.

But then maybe that was the solution. Maybe she just needed to get away from Fred and George's company. Maybe she did need to start dating again. And who better than Victor? He was nice, charming and he cared for her. There would really never be a better man. So bracing herself, Hermione dried her tears and turned around to face Harry.

"Sure," she said. "Maybe a date is what I need. You can tell Ginny that I'll do it," she said before excusing herself and leaving. She wondered if it was just her imagination that made Harry look relieved when she said she was leaving. Either way he didn't try to persuade her to stay. Not past the lame attempts that was probably seen as mandatory. Hugging her he told her to take care, and that he was sure she'd feel better once she got out and about. He never had been a good comforter, Hermione tried to remind herself as she felt disappointment fill her chest. _You cannot change him. He'll never be empathic, it doesn't mean he loves you less," _she tried to convince herself. But as she returned to her flat it wasn't Harry's arms around her she wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

She hadn't expected starting to date would be this easy. And she _hadn't_ expected George and Fred being so dead-set against it. She had expected her two best friends to support her resolve to move on. She had expected them to support her decision to date Victor. Yet they hadn't. They had claimed she wasn't ready, that she needed more time; that he wasn't right for her. She hadn't listened. Disappointed and angry that her friends wouldn't support her when she needed them she had lashed out – telling them that she couldn't sit around mourning Ron forever and that they needed to realize that she wasn't Ron's girlfriend anymore, that she needed to get out.

They still hadn't liked it. But they had quieted down, letting her go without a fight. And they did stay away when they knew she was seeing Victor, and they had stopped suggesting activities for the weekends. It did mean that she saw them less, and for that she told herself that she was happy. For the less she saw them the easier it was to pretend that the feelings she had for them were only platonic. That those feelings had nothing to do with romance. And so she continued to date Victor. He was a very nice man after all, and there was really no reason to date anyone else. And when she felt she missed always having them around, she reminded herself that it wasn't normal to be that dependant on her friends, and that she really should be reasonable about it all.

Reason. That was what tonight was all about. Reason told her that she needed to move on, that she needed to commit wholeheartedly. She couldn't expect Victor to wait forever after all. And he had already waited for months, patiently, never pressing her into anything she couldn't handle. He really was a wonderful man. So why didn't she feel more than she did? Well after tonight she was sure she was going to.

Yet she frowned when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't like what she saw. But then again she hadn't liked what she saw when she tried on the other 6 robes that Ginny had helped the get the last time they went out.

She hadn't told Ginny what it was about. Only that it was four months since she and Victor had gone on their first date. And Ginny had been more than happy to help. Yet nothing she had picked out worked. Several of the robes were cut far too low, most of them were all in the wrong colours and the ones she had on now had far too many buttons. All of them was far too…well she didn't know what they were but they were far too _something_, of that she was certain.

Hermione sighed. She knew it wasn't really about the robes. It was about the piece of paper lying in front of her. Her list of pros and cons. The pros all sensible and logical – _it will bring you closer together, it will help you move on, he is a kind, honest, intelligent man, he loves you, he's stable, you've been dating for four months… _The cons consisting only of three words -_ Ron, George, Fred._ Completely illogical. With a frustrated groan she crumpled the paper and threw it in the wastebasket.

Damn it! She couldn't let them run her life. She wouldn't. The pros were reasonable, sane – and she had decided to push any doubt she felt as far back in her mind as possible. She was 20 going on 21 and had still never…well that was going to change tonight.

Hiking up her courage she rose. It didn't matter that the robes had too many buttons, she would wear them anyway. Grabbing her cloak she left the flat and Disapparated.

Victor was polite and nice as always. The restaurant lovely as usual. But by the time the dessert came in Hermione was so deeply submerged in her own thoughts that her conversations completely consisted of short syllables and grunts. She didn't notice that Victor looked at her funnily, that he seemed worried about her, nor did she really care. Her thoughts were to busy trying to convince herself that what she was going to do was right. That it was the logical thing to do. And so when Victor called her name for the third time she was surprised to realize that he raised his voice, and she was surprised when he asked her what was wrong and when he told her she was acting strange.

She didn't know how she managed to come up with a good excuse when her mind was still concentrated on the running argument in her head, with her heart telling her to slow down, telling her that she didn't love him. She would. She had decided she would and that was the logical thing to do, and she always did was what logical.

"Herm-owny," Victor said, his English so much better than it once had been but still giving him problems when it came to her name. "I have been thinking, could I call you something else, something shorter?" he asked. "I was thinking, Mya or Mia, if that would be alright?" Hermione couldn't help scowling.

"Call me anything of the kind and I'll hex you," she answered a bit snappier than she had intended. She had wanted it to sound like a joke – the look on Victors face told her it hadn't. "My parents named me Hermione – that is the only name anyone will ever call me," she added a bit softer. Victor nodded.

"I just thought since…well Harry calls Ginny, Gin, so I…"

"I happen to find that ridiculous," Hermione interrupted. "Gin is a beverage not a nickname, and besides Ginny _is_ her nickname – what isn't it short enough? It just makes him seem lazy to me," she said firmly. Victor nodded again, not able to completely hide his disappointment. Wishing she would feel a bit bad for being so harsh, Hermione told herself it didn't matter. He would get used to her name, and after tonight he really wouldn't have any reason to be disappointed.

If she had been quiet during dinner she was even quieter on their way home, and by the time they reached her flat Hermione couldn't bring herself to invite him in. Standing outside the building, Victor leaning in to kiss her she just knew that her flat just wouldn't due.

"Can we go to your place?" she asked suddenly making Victor look at her with surprise before he nodded, still looking confused. He wasn't less surprised when he realized just what Hermione had in mind.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked her sitting next to her on the sofa. "I don't want to do anything you're not ready for," he added. If anything could convince Hermione that what she was about to do was right that was it. She leaned in and kissed him, moving her hand around his neck pulling him closer to her.

Following her lead Victor kissed her back, slipping his hands around her waist closing the distance between their bodies. His kisses were soft, tender, nothing like the Ron's inexperienced, a bit too wet attempts at kissing when they were still at Hogwarts. They were serious, calm, thought through, and nothing like the playful, fun kisses that she imagined Fred would render, or the emotional, passionate ones she thought George would give.

No! She would not think like that. She wouldn't allow herself. She was kissing the man she was supposed to be making love to. A man that loved her dearly. So why was thinking of Fred and George? It wasn't right.

It wasn't right that while Victor was kissing her she couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel to be kissed by someone else. It wasn't right that she was imagining how Fred would bite and nibble her lower lip or how George would kiss her so hard her lips would be tender and swollen as a result. It wasn't right that as Victor started to unbutton the buttons on her robes she imagined it being Fred doing it. And it wasn't right that when Victor let his hand slide lower to caress her she pretended it was George's hands instead.

This wasn't right! It was wrong. This was wrong! And suddenly she couldn't breathe, and she certainly couldn't go through with this any longer, and she couldn't go on pretending that her feelings for Fred and George were just friendship. Just like she couldn't go on pretending that she would fall in love with Victor when her heart kept telling her that she wouldn't no matter how deserving he was.

Panicking she pushed him off her, stumbling up from the sofa, thinking of nothing but getting away from there, away from him, from herself. She needed to get out of there, to get air, to breathe.

She didn't feel Victor grabbing her or hear him pleading with her to stay and talk things through, to tell him what he had done wrong. She didn't feel her robes ripping when she pulled out of his grip, and she wasn't aware about grabbing her cloak on the way out. The only thing she was aware of was that she needed her two best friends to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be alright. That she would get over this. That her heart would mend again.

But then how much breaking could a heart take before it broke permanently? And how could she tell them that her heart was breaking because of them? How did you tell your best friends that you were in love – not with one of them but the both of them? What would keep them from becoming angry and throwing her out.

But then they wouldn't turn her away. They might not understand, but they would try, wouldn't they? And she really couldn't go home, because Victor was sure to show up there, or floo her at least. And she really didn't want to talk to him now. And maybe she didn't need to tell them the truth, maybe she could tell them only part of it?

Either way she needed to decide now, because she could hear Victor coming down the stairs, following her down. And she knew he was stubborn and that he would want an explanation, and that he would be understanding and patient and suddenly she couldn't take the thought and she knew where she would go. It was the only place she could go. And so she Disapparated before Victor reached the door, before he reached her.


	3. Chapter 3

They weren't in the living room when she Apparated in. Looking for them she called out their names, and when she didn't get a reply she called out again, and then again. Not until she called out for them several times did the knowledge that they weren't at home sink in.

She collapsed on their sofa, pulling a pillow to her, hugging it tight as she cried. Holding the pillow to her face she inhaled the sent that was George's, knowing that if she grabbed the pillow on the other side of the sofa it would smell like Fred.

She had gotten them these pillows. But then she had picked out the rug on the floor as well as the curtains in their windows. They hadn't even had curtains before she became their friend. Nor had they had any plants, and their bedspreads had been horrible. They had let her change all that. Letting her decorate their flat in a lame attempt to make up for all the things they did for her. And now she was crying into a pillow she herself had gotten, but that were now so firmly George's that his sent was imbedded in it.

When she heard the familiar cracks of someone Apparating she was relieved. Then she heard their voices from the hallway. Katie and Angelina's voices. She should have realized they were with them. Why had she assumed they would be home alone on a Saturday evening? Getting up from the sofa she tried to dry her tears, which wasn't an easy thing to do when your heart was breaking, but she tried nevertheless, intent on leaving before they knew she was there.

"Hermione!"

Too late. She wouldn't get out now.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asked surprised. "We thought you were out tonight," he added.

She couldn't think straight. Why couldn't she think straight? She was always thinking straight. Well she needed to leave them alone. She should leave them alone. They were with their girlfriends and they wouldn't want her imposing, and so she tried to make her excuses, saying that she'd talk to them in the morning, apologizing for disturbing their evening.

"Hermione, stop it!"

It was George's voice.

"You know you're always welcome here. There is no need to apologize."

"We'll just leave and let the three of you be alone," Katie said, patting Hermione's arm sympathetically.

"No, no, you really shouldn't. I didn't mean to ruin your evening, and I don't want to impose…"

"You're not imposing!" Angelina asserted. "And our evening is over now when we're gotten out from parent-hell, anyway," she said lightly. Hermione looked at her, confused. Giving her a scrutinising look Katie then turned to Fred and George, both of them looking very worried.

"You have told her, haven't you?" she asked.

"You asked us not to tell anyone!" Fred said. Angelina turned around and stared at them.

"Well we assumed you'd tell her!" she said firmly. "I mean you must be daft not to!" she said shaking her head. Confused Hermione let her eyes wander between them.

"We're not dating Fred and George, Hermione," Katie then said. "We're just putting on a show for our parents and relatives."

"Why?" Hermione asked them, even more confused now even thought her heart did rise a bit at the news.

"We're gay," Angelina answered her, slipping her arm around Katie's waist. "And Fred and George have been helping us keep it from our parents."

"Why?" Hermione asked again, feeling like an idiot for not being able to come up with anything else to say.

"My parents are very religious Catholics," Katie said. "They'd either drag me off to confession trying to "straighten" me out or cut me out of their lives if they'd find out."

"And mine are worse. They insist on having grandchildren. It's their vision of the future. You meat a nice wizard, get married and have a bunch of kids. Before I pretended to date Fred they'd already set me up on more dates than I care to remember. Two actually being with cousins which I find a bit…disturbing to say the least. You might imagine how happy they'll be when they find out that there won't be any cute little wizards and witches running around anytime soon," Angelina said with a sigh. "Anyway, we'll leave and the three of you can talk. It's fairly obvious that you need to talk to someone," she then said.

Feeling confused, and more relieved than she liked to admit, Hermione watched as the girls took their leave. She heard Angelina tell Fred to go and make some tea. She watched him scuffle of to the kitchen to do as she was told. And then it was only her and George in the room, and suddenly she didn't know what to say, or where to begin. It wasn't as if she could just go on and tell him the truth. She didn't even want to imagine his reaction if he found out she was in love with both him and his brother. With one of them, yes he could probably handle that – but the both of them? _She_ couldn't even handle that.

"Hermione, what happened tonight to make you come here?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing really," she lied, deciding that maybe it was best that she didn't tell them anything at all. She didn't want to risk their friendship. So what if her heart broke. She could live with that. She couldn't live with losing them as her friends.

"Oh, really? So that is why you are standing in our living room, still wearing your cloak although you've obviously been here for quite some time – crying if I'm judging from the way the pillow is soaked through," George said matter-of-factly. Hermione looked down. She hadn't been aware of the fact that she was still wearing her cloak, and now she fingered it nervously, her fingers trembling too much for her to unclasp it.

She started when she felt George's hands cover hers, moving them away from the clasp, helping her. Closing her eyes she couldn't help but to shiver, wishing that there was another reason for him to unclasp her cloak other than just helping her out.

"Hermione, what on earth happened tonight?" George suddenly asked, jerking her back to reality from the obvious fury in his voice.

It wasn't like George to be angry like that for no good reason, and she hadn't told him about her feelings so why would he be angry now? Confused she looked at him, staring down at her robes.

"Answer me? What did he do to you? Why are your robes torn?" he answered growing ever more agitated, spitting out the words through gritted teeth. "I swear if that bastard hurt you I'll rip him apart! I'll kill him with my bare hands!"

Confused Hermione continued to stare at him for a while, before it dawned on her what he was saying. Looking down she could see that her robes had been ripped, even if she couldn't remember it happening.

"No, no, George he didn't, that must have been when…oh George I made such a mess of things tonight, and I wasn't nice to Victor and he didn't do anything wrong – I did," she said, unable to hold back the tears.

Almost instantly she could feel George pulling her into his arms, holding her tight as he walked her over to the sofa and sat her down. Still holding her, he rocked her like he had so many times before. She didn't speak. She didn't tell him what happened, or why it happened. She couldn't bring herself to do that. How would she be able to when she knew that the moment she did, she might just lose her two best friends and end up completely alone?

And why shouldn't she? Her feelings were wrong, she knew that. George and Fred were completely different persons. Only those that didn't know them well enough thought otherwise. And while playing around with their similarities they really didn't appreciate when people assumed that one would think and feel the same as the other, just because they looked alike. But then that was her problem, wasn't it?

If they had been the same person she wouldn't have any problems choosing, she would just pick either of them. But now she wanted both of them. And she knew it was wrong. She knew that the chances of them accepting this were slim to say the least. And unfortunately she knew that she wouldn't be able to stand it much longer if she wasn't allowed to tell them about her feelings.

"What happened?" Fred asked, coming into the room carrying the tea Angelina ordered him to make. It had been thoughtful of her, but Hermione really didn't feel like having tea. All she wanted was her two best friends to hold her and tell her everything would be alright – which of course it wasn't.

"Dunno yet," George said simply, and Hermione could feel Fred sitting down next to her, and when he stroked her hair and squeezed her arm and urged her to tell them what was wrong Hermione felt as if she never wanted to move again.

Slowly Hermione told them some of what happened. Not everything. Not the why – just the facts. She told herself it wasn't lying to withhold the reasons for her actions. It wasn't lying not to tell them everything. And she wished she had been able to convince herself that it wasn't immoral to withhold information just to keep them close to her.

And they did stay close. Holding her they told her that she hadn't done anything wrong, and that she really couldn't go on with something she didn't want to do, and of course it would be difficult for her to sleep with someone other than Ron. Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it. She knew it wasn't the thought of Ron that kept her from making love to Victor. It wasn't even her utter lack of feelings for him. It was her feelings for George and Fred. Those where the feelings she hadn't been able to betray.

"What's funny?" Fred asked confused.

"I just never…Ron and I never…" she admitted, glad to have something to say other than the truth.

"You didn't?" George asked, lifting her face up so he could see her eyes. Hermione simply shook her head.

"We kind of assumed you had," Fred admitted from behind her back, but Hermione hardly heard him, for suddenly she didn't care anymore. Her heart was beating too fast, and George's face was too close, and if she didn't do this now then she never would, and she couldn't live with them not knowing, and so she leaned up and kissed him.

She wasn't surprised to feel him start to pull back, and even if she expected it she could feel a wave of disappointment wash over her. But then he stopped. And then he leaned in and kissed her back, and suddenly all was right with the world, and it was not the sort of kiss she imagined from him, it was softer, more tender, and it was perfect because she loved him and he was kissing her and who cared about anything else?

And then Fred shifted and started to move, and things weren't perfect anymore. It wasn't enough. She knew she should settle, but it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. And if she allowed Fred to leave then everything would be ruined, and so she grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, refusing to let him go.

"Hermione, I…" he started and as Hermione pulled back from George she could hear the disappointment in Fred's voice. "Just let go, and I'll leave the two of you alone."

"And if I don't want you to go?" she asked, almost holding her breath, expecting them both to fly of the handle. Neither did. Instead they said nothing and for what felt like an eternity Hermione waited for one of them to do or say something, yet she couldn't look up. She couldn't speak. She could just wait.

"What do you mean?" Fred's voice then asked. Hesitant, tentatively.

"That I…Oh gods I'm depraved," Hermione exclaimed, finding speaking to be too much to handle. Burying her head in her hands she refused to look up. Not until George firmly pulled her hands away and Fred grabbed her chin and made her look up at the both of them.

"Look, I'm just going to ask here, whom do you want? We both love you. It's your choice really, and we won't interfere with it. We'll accept your decision – what ever that might be, even if it's neither of us," Fred said simply, his voice a bit shaky as he spoke.

"You love me?" she asked.

"Of course we do," George answered. "But we swore we wouldn't try anything. That it would be hurting each other, and you. But we also decided that if you were ever to become interested in one of us, the other would back down, that we would leave it up to you if that was the case," he explained.

"So if you choose George I will back down," Fred said looking at her as if he already knew what she was going to say, ready to step up and leave.

"Would you hate me if I said I don't want to choose? That I love the both of you," she whispered so faintly they wouldn't have heard her if she hadn't been so close.

"You love…the both of us?" George asked surprised.

Hermione nodded, biting her lips out of nervousness.

"That's why I couldn't go through with it tonight, that's why it would never have worked with Victor. I tried, I really did try, and I know I'm horrible and that it's probably wrong but I love you and I can't make myself stop and I can't choose, please don't ask me to choose," she rambled, unable to stop herself.

"Don't choose," George then whispered in her ear, slipping her arms tighter around her. "Or what do you say, Fred?" he then asked looking at his brother. Fred nodded slowly, thoughtfully, then he smiled.

"Don't choose," he said, leaning in to kiss her, and just like that everything was perfect again, and she was surprised to find out that it was Fred's kisses that were passionate and possessive, that there weren't playful at all, that it was him who bruised her lips from the sheer force of his kiss. And it didn't matter that she'd been wrong. It was perfect anyway. And as George dusted kisses along her neckline and shoulders, and Fred claimed her mouth with his own she realized that she suddenly didn't care what the rest of the world would think. She didn't care that this was supposed to be immoral, that this was really something to be considered as wrong, because it wasn't wrong. It couldn't be. Victor had been wrong. Victor had felt wrong. This felt right, so very right and this was the way it was supposed to be, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

There is a continuation to this story that I cannot post here because of the rating. It can be found at booksfreckles LJ community for those of you that might be interested.


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